In the summer of 2024, you couldn’t scroll, swipe, or step onto a dance floor without being hit by the slime green glow of Brat. Charli xcx’s sixth studio album was not just a release, it was a takeover. But instead of immortalizing that era through a glossy, crowd-thrilling concert documentary, Charli and director Aidan Zamiri take a sharp turn in the opposite direction.

The Moment is not a victory lap. It is a satire.

Fame Behind the Flashing Lights

Framed as a mockumentary, the film follows an exaggerated version of Charli navigating the chaos of sustaining “Brat Summer” long past its natural expiration date. It opens in sensory overload with strobe lights and pulsating color shifts before quickly undercutting the fantasy. Fame, we are reminded, is admin. It is British Vogue shoots, tense limo Zoom calls, branding meetings, and the creeping realization that everyone has a stake in your identity.

As plans for a concert film spiral into a battle over authorship, Charli finds herself boxed in by label executives led by Rosanna Arquette, management, and a smug, self-serious director played with delicious condescension by Alexander Skarsgård. Everyone wants to preserve “the moment.” No one seems to care what it costs her.

Satire With a Sharp Edge

Charli commits fully to the bit. Her on-screen persona is volatile, funny, defensive, and occasionally insufferable. She plays a pop star who is both self-aware and self-sabotaging. The satire cuts both ways. She skewers industry greed, with a running gag about a Brat branded credit card standing out, while also exposing the ego and instability that can accompany creative ambition.

The film carries echoes of I’m Still Here and This Is Spinal Tap, along with shades of The Thick of It-style industry dysfunction. Cameos from Kate Berlant, Kylie Jenner, and Rachel Sennott add to the chaos, with Sennott landing the sharp line, “Are you doing the Joaquin Phoenix thing?”

Style Over Substance

Visually, Zamiri and cinematographer Sean Price Williams give the film a slick yet unstable texture. After its explosive opening, the camera settles into a faux cinéma vérité rhythm that feels intimate and intrusive. That looseness becomes a weakness in the second half, where the narrative begins to wander and the satire softens. The energy that defined Brat flickers instead of burns.

The Morning After

Still, there is something compelling about watching a pop star interrogate her own myth in real time. The Moment may not fully sustain its high concept ambition, but it is bold in its refusal to follow the formula of traditional music documentaries. Rather than freeze “Brat Summer” in amber,

Charli lets it unravel.

If Brat was the party, The Moment is the morning after, with mascara smudged and the hangover settling in. And maybe that is the real statement. Moments are not meant to last forever.